An Outsider Among Us
by TheInfinityExode
Summary: "When you have More Questions than answers, the only logical thing to do is to find the truth" A man from another world will seek his reason for him being on Remnant, come hell or high water. armed with nothing other than a set of powers and a pair of voices in his head. there is an outsider among us, and he wants answers- AU Darker storyline


It was the year 4766, I think.

I don't remember much of it

There were 4 of us, or 6

Again, my mind fails me

There was Quimarrus, Ghazarrah, Scydwevre and me.

I had a name

But I don't remember.

There was about 4 million of them.

Too many for me to recall

We slaughtered them like cattle

It was easy

Too easy

We had never lost, not from lack of trying mind you.

It was impossible for us to die

It made us overconfident

It made us weak

It made me who I am

Who I was.

The battle was long and grueling

A literal sea of corpses, floating on their shared blood

I think I enjoyed myself

Does that make me evil, to enjoy death?

I don't think so, I think that makes me rational

Death meets us all some day

Even those who couldn't die

One way or another.

I think Ghazarrah fell first

Too many blurs to be sure

Do you know what witnessing the impossible feels like?

I guess impossible is the wrong word

More like something that never happened before

It doesn't matter

Quimarrus, Ghazarrah, Scydwevre

They're dead

And I'm not

Instead, I'm here

Somewhere far away from home

Home?

I don't think I ever had a home

Only death and killing

Maybe this is my chance at redemption?

Or reclamation?

To reclaim my memory

Through death and killing

I don't think that this is neither redemption or reclamation.

Maybe its remembrance

Who I am

What I am

I know I'm not human

Humans don't harbor others within themselves

I think

I'm not sure

The people look at me strange

Not with fear or terror

Not like I'm used to

But with suspicion and intrigue

Like a living puzzle

But I'm missing the pieces to this puzzle

Like who I am

What I am

Where I am

And why I'm here

And who these things inside me are

What they want from me.

I've heard things

Things of value to something like me

Something I was

Something a killer would want.

It's a school

For killers

To train and refine skills

They call it something like "light"

Or "Hope"

It doesn't matter

Names are useless to me

I don't even remember my own

Perhaps I should name myself

This new world, so different from mine

My name shall follow suit

From now on

Call me

Psrris

It means outside

Why do I remember that?

Of everything I forgot

This I remember

That's stupid

I need a drink

The teleport to this world has left me parched

And I'm hungry

How long has it been since I ate?

Days?

Months?

Who knows

Tomorrow I find my path at this school of killers

But tonight, I feed myself on the first taste of this world

Probably meat and water.

Oh well

My life here on Remnant shall be a hard and brutal one

The remnant of what?

Or who?

Who cares, these things aren't important.

Wherever this knowledge of this world is coming from, I won't complain.

* * *

As the leather notebook was closed, its owner looked up to the fractured moon with more questions, for now, he decided to look for the food he just wrote about, after all, he was starving.

Heading to the local village he was near he began to feel eyes on him. This wasn't the first time this had happened when he arrived on Remanet, he felt thousands of eyes upon his form.

This world wasn't all it seemed, and at first glance he saw something large and black maneuverer around his blind spots, looking for an opening.

Little to the creature's knowledge, its prey was not just another traveler, this was a seasoned killer of man and monster. As the creature pounced from behind a fallen tree, fangs and claws exposed to the elements, its last thought was of the color of his eyes, bright blue like an ocean with a hint of something otherworldly. as he soared through the air poised for an easy kill, he was greeted with a swift and heavy blade to the skull, spreading his mind like paper. His prey had somehow produced a blade and turned to strike all while he was in the air, a feat the beast had not predicted, or even thought possible.

As the beast head touched the brittle grass, cleft in twain, its assailant has not moved an inch from where he made the fatal incision to the head. Still like a statue for mere minutes before the blade had been sheathed away from view, and in an instance, he turned on his heels and continued along the path towards the warmth of the village.

They say beasts like the Grimm feel nothing but hunger and hate but in the forest south of Vale.

There was one man who made the Beowolves feel fear and horror.

And so, a legend was born.

He who Grimm fear, and tremble before

Psrris, the Outsider.


End file.
